


soap

by OedipusOctopus



Series: eviligo [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (Multiple), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Growing Apart, Growing Up, Happy Ending, M/M, Minimal amount of angst, Reunions, and then back together, fashion designer Asahi, sort of a college au, travel blogger noya
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OedipusOctopus/pseuds/OedipusOctopus
Summary: Some are lucky enough to become high school sweethearts and spend all of their days together. For some, it takes time. Time, and lots of bumping into each other along the way.On growing up, reconnecting, and making things whole.~~Companion piece to eviligo, but no real plot connection so you don't have to read that one first :)
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu
Series: eviligo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1970692
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	soap

**Author's Note:**

> hello~ i promised an asanoya companion piece to eviligo, and here it is~ it's not 100% done yet, but i really really want to put what i've got out into the universe right now. i've been writing and tweaking and rewording bits for weeks now, and it's brought me immeasurable comfort to write. so i wanted to share that with y'all :)
> 
> there aren't really any plot points tied to eviligo, though there may be some background krtsk or bokuaka mentions later, so no need to read that one first! it's just the same universe :) 
> 
> title from [soap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCII-wB-2MU&ab_channel=StandAtlantic-Topic) by [stand atlantic](https://open.spotify.com/artist/1W2Fv4YUnjC8hx2qQd6fGh?si=VDlailiVSOuMf7Hh7Rfh_A).

He doesn't know when it started.

Maybe it was when he overheard captain Kurokawa talking to their vice captain, the first week of his second year. 

_"You heard, right?"_

_"Yeah… he won the best libero award in middle school."_

_"Why the hell is he at Karasuno, then? He could have gone to a powerhouse like Shiratorizawa or Aoba Johsai."_

_"Who knows, man. We're lucky to have him."_

How was he to know, then, that Nishinoya is not to be had by anyone? 

~~

He does know when it should have ended. 

It should have been over with the turning of the seasons, with the budding of the cherry blossoms. Weeks away from the failure that clung to the back of his skull like a leech thirsty for his barely-there sense of self-worth, he should have known that it was all over. 

He was too naive to realize, then, that Nishinoya cares not for "should."

It should have become nothing more than a spare thought to make his heart flutter in muscle memory the day they threw their caps in the crisp spring air, fresh with the scent of sakura petals in the wind. After the year that set his heart aflame, he should have known that all good things must come to an end. 

He was for once in his life too optimistic to realize, then, that Nishinoya would haunt his subconscious even as he tripped into his own future. 

It should have come to a close, finite and finally, when his 2pm creative writing class lost its beacon of sunshine. Mere months into the readjusting of his life to fit the brilliant star that blazed in his mind always, he should have known Nishinoya is too big to be immured by the municipal confines of Miyagi.

He was too battered to know, then, that Nishinoya was far from done with him. 

~~~~~~~~

"Asahi-san!"

It's the voice he's almost forgotten, nearly gone from the recesses of his oft crowded brain. But between the two years he spent drowning, entrenched in it, and the softly pitying looks Daichi sends him each time Sugawara mentions how _everyone's favourite libero_ is doing, he hasn't forgotten. 

The scraping of the terrible plastic lecture hall chair against the scuffed linoleum isn't enough to muffle the echo of the voice in his head that rattles his bones down to the tiniest of them all in his inner ear. 

“You let your hair get a lot longer.”

He watches in sordid fascination—the kind that conjures when the current circumstances are too fanciful to comprehend safely—from the corner of his eye as Nishinoya slams down a spiral notebook onto the desk next to his own. The plastic cover glares bright, bold in a shade of red that Asahi thinks suits the situation just fine. 

His rational sense aside, Asahi looks up from his phone and immediately wishes he hadn’t. 

Nishinoya looks _good._ Far, far too good with the way his jeans are cuffed to expose his ankles, the way his t-shirt is wrinkled at the collar and rumpled at the hem, the way his hair rests over his forehead relaxed and silken, the way he manages to steal every last breath from Asahi’s lungs with nothing more than a grin stretched wide over his face. 

“It looks good on you, don’t worry.” Nishinoya blows a puff of air upward, rustling his bangs. “ _My_ hair, on the other hand, is a mess. I can’t believe I woke up so late today. My dad would kill me if he saw me out of the house like this.”

And like nothing is out of the ordinary, like he hasn’t just stormed into Asahi’s life again— _again—_ and stirred up the misplaced fluttering of his heart, dug up from the depths of his conscience the unfounded constricting of his chest, Nishinoya plops into the chair next to Asahi’s. 

A year without him, and Asahi thought he was to go the rest of his life like that. 

“Hey, uh, Asahi-san?”

The softness petaling all around Nishinoya’s normally brazen voice sends Asahi’s mind into overdrive. He looks down at Nishinoya, takes in the knobby knees crossed over each other, and sees an unusual solemnity settle into his features. It’s trouble, that serious expression on Nishinoya’s face. 

Asahi is no stranger to it.

Oh no, this isn’t— hopefully he won’t— surely he wouldn’t say something about the last year’s absence, about how nice it was to not have Asahi’s creepy gaze on him all the time, about how he’s sitting here only because it’s nice to see a familiar face— he wouldn’t mention these things when they’re about to be stuck next to each other for an hour long lecture, right?

When Nishinoya opens his mouth, Asahi can already hear the words that’ll surely tumble out. _Why didn’t you answer my texts?_ Or maybe, _Without you hanging around I finally got a girlfriend._ Potentially, and the worst of them all, _It’s been so long since I even thought about you!_

Instead, he says, “I forgot a pen. Can I borrow one from you?”

~~

“So… you gave him a pen, right?”

Suga backhands Daichi in the gut. “That’s not the point!”

“Jesus Christ,” Daichi wheezes, clutching his stomach. “Then what the hell is it?”

“Ugh, you big oaf. Just sit there and look pretty while the adults talk.” Suga rests his chin in a hand, stirring the foam deeper into his cappuccino. “Let Asahi tell Suga Mama all about it.”

Daichi sighs. “I always hated that name.”

“Seconded,” Asahi pipes up. 

"You don't even make that much money. You couldn't possibly be anyone's sugar mama."

Suga frowns. "It was gifted to me by the baby crows."

Asahi shifts in his seat, accidentally nudging Daichi’s foot with his own. Daichi sends him a shrug and a half-smile in response. 

“Anyway, yes, Daichi, I did give him a pen." Asahi flexes his fingers around the handle of his mug. "He gave it back to me at the end of class and said 'You might as well put my name on it 'cuz I'm probably gonna borrow it tons.'"

Silence settles around Asahi’s shoulders, and it's not the comforting kind of quiet that he wishes he had more of. No, Daichi and Suga exchange one of those stupid, telepathic sideways glances that always ends in his misery. 

"You didn't…" Daichi starts. 

"...label it, did you?" Suga finishes for him, because he's an absolute devil under that angelic facade. 

Eyebrow twitching, Asahi chuckles, and he hopes the sound is convincing enough through the nervousness thickening in his throat. "Guys, I'm not— the label maker incident happened a year ago. I'm over it."

Suga takes a pointed sip of his coffee, brows raised in obvious disbelief. 

Beside him, Daichi shakes his head in that disapproving dad way of his. "You're not over him, though," he says, in that disapproving dad way of his. 

Even after all these years, a tiny part of Asahi shrivels up in his chest like a raisin at that tone of voice. "N— there isn't anything for me to be over. It was a dumb high school crush." He stares down at his hands, too big around the fragile porcelain of the mug, too tattered with feathering ink stains against the homogenous woodgrain of the table. "Nothing even happened."

"I mean…" Daichi leans forward. "You did spend every day with him after school the entirety of our third year. I wouldn't call that 'nothing.'"

“We were friends. Friends hang out.” The way the word ‘were’ sounds rolling off his tongue makes him wince.

“O-kay,” Suga says, dragging out the first vowel. “We’re your friends, too, and you didn’t spend every waking moment with us.”

“It wasn’t every waking moment—”

“You’re right, you refused to be in the club room while he changed—”

“Suga.” Daichi rests a hand on Suga’s bicep, placating. “Ease up on the guy.”

Hunching down in his chair, Suga crosses his arms over his chest. “I just want you to be happy, Asahi. And Nishinoya makes you happy. It’s you not letting yourself be happy. That makes me unhappy.”

“How many times can you say ‘happy’?” Daichi mutters under his breath. Suga sends him a scowl in response. 

The corners of Asahi’s mouth tug downward. “I left him. _Again._ I don’t deserve—”

“Asahi, I swear on all that is holy, I will punch you if you say what I think you’re about to say.”

Daichi glares at Suga. “I think,” Daichi starts, turning his attention back to Asahi, “what Suga is trying to say is that it’s obvious that Noya doesn’t take it personally. He clearly still wants to be your friend if he’s acting like nothing happened.”

He knows Daichi is right, somewhere deep in a crevice of his heart not visible to his brain, some place hidden from the logical part of him. Like the anxiety coursing through his veins muffles the part of him that knows Noya well enough to know that he wouldn’t act so casual, so nonchalant, if he felt differently. 

Noya has always said what he means, means what he says. 

It’s one of the things Asahi has always admired about him. 

The ability to say whatever is on his mind, no matter how inane or profound or paradoxical— Noya’s always had it.

“Noya does what he wants and nothing more, nothing less.” The toe of Daichi’s shoe pushes against the back of Asahi’s heel. “You know that more than anyone.”

“You’re right. I just…” Asahi sighs. “What if he wants to talk about it?”

With a shrug, Daichi picks up his coffee but doesn’t take a sip. “You talk it out like the adult I know you are.”

"I…" Asahi swallows thickly. 

"Aha!" Suga’s voice drifts up from under the table. He sits back on his heels, face level with Asahi's lap. 

Asahi jumps nearly two feet in the air at the sudden proximity. He must’ve been too caught up in his own brain– surprise to no one– to have noticed Suga _crawl under the table._

Suga raises an arm triumphantly in the air, still sitting on the floor of the coffee shop. In public. "I found the pen! And look, Dai– he did label it!" He slams the writing utensil on the tabletop. 

The surface of the coffee in Asahi's mug ripples, the liquid ebbing dubiously close to the brim with the excess force of the whirlwind that is Sugawara Koushi.

Asahi can relate. 

"Damn it, Asahi! When did you get another label maker?"

Groaning, Asahi slumps over in his chair until his head thumps against the table.

~~

“Did you read the syllabus?”

It's impossible for his shoulders to not tense up at how _close_ Noya's voice is behind him. 

Again, that red, red notebook is smacked down onto the desk beside Asahi's. This time, in bold, black Sharpie, _COMP 1512_ is written in the top corner. "Well, I did. Did you know there's a group project in this class? In creative writing? So weird." 

Asahi turns to face Noya as he scrapes the chair against the floor, noisy and terrible. 

Of course Noya looks incredible, in that effortless, wild way of his. His jeans are rolled up like last time, but today his hair is gelled up in that gravity-defying style that has always suited him. The mustard cardigan wrapped around his torso follows the narrowing of his shoulders down to his waist, and Asahi thinks it’s a little weird seeing Noya in casual clothes that aren’t basketball shorts and one of those t-shirts with a four-character saying on them. 

Not that he’s complaining.

“Ugh, group projects are just the worst.” Noya sighs dramatically, leaning his chin into his cupped hand. 

The last two days of thinking, thinking, overthinking, haven’t properly prepared Asahi to deal with this moment. He thought about texting Noya. He thought about dropping out of school altogether. He thought about going back to Noya’s family home, to catch up. He thought about switching sections, or maybe holding off on his composition credit requirement for another semester. He thought about the last time they were together. 

Not— not _together_ together. Just… together. Hanging out, or whatever Daichi called it. 

“I guess normally they’d be the worst. But I bet this one is gonna be awesome since I’ve got you.”

“You’ve…” Asahi grips his phone between his forefinger and thumb so tightly he can imagine the sound of the glass cracking. “Got me?”

Noya chuckles, airy but full. “‘Course. We’re gonna do the project together, right?”

Asahi swallows. It’s all too weird. It’s not right. Noya hasn’t once mentioned— well, anything, really. Not that Asahi left (again), not that they even knew each other, once. He’s acting like the last time they talked was a week ago, not a year ago. 

(16 months ago, actually.)

(It’s kind of a miracle Asahi didn’t see him last semester, at the start of the school year. Noya has always been so bright, so big, so bold, so unlikely to be missed. Impossible to not see.)

(He’s acting like Asahi didn’t _almost_ kiss him, 16 months ago, and run out of his room like a right coward with nothing but the words _I can’t do this_ lingering in his wake.)

“Unless…” Noya leans back in his heat, glancing around the lecture hall. “You already have someone in mind?”

Shaking his head, Asahi says, “N-no, I don’t know anyone in this class.”

Noya’s lips spread slowly, like a knife through molasses, into a blazing grin that sends Asahi’s heart thrumming dangerously. “You know me. And you know I’ve always got your back, Asahi-san.”

(Asahi wishes he could remember who said those words, hushed, between their nearly connected lips.)

“So, still got that pen? Looks like I forgot mine again.”

~~~~~~~~

How was he to know that this time, it would be Noya who leaves?

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! kudos and comments always appreciated but never necessary <3
> 
> follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/OedipusOctopus) for fic updates (and random weeb rambles!)


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